


and i still feel that rush in my veins

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Banter, Crack, F/M, Gen, Humor, OT6, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Snark, Ward puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka <i>how the original six got their groove back</i>.</p><p><b>tropes galore and more than slightly cracky</b>. </p><p>*</p><p>“And I liked it better when you called me ‘Boss,’” says Coulson. “We can’t always get what we want.”</p><p>“<i>Don’t say it</i> –” Ward, Jemma and Fitz suddenly plead as one.</p><p>“But if you try sometimes, you just might find,” Skye curls a fist to her chest, pop-singer style, and raises her voice in a falsetto, “You get what you <i>NEED</i>.”</p><p>Coulson covers his face with his hand. “Where did I go wrong?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i still feel that rush in my veins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleeplessmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/gifts).



> for my SARAHJ who knows the _why_ and _how_.

Jemma has been stuck inside this windowless room for what seems like _years_.

She knows, of course, that would be biologically impossible. Uses the finer portion of logic and rationale to talk herself off the ledge and tries unsnarling a few mathematically difficult problems to take her mind off the current situation.

It works out rather well, actually.

…Until Grant Ward tumbles out at her feet.

*

Ward knows the odds of surviving a cosmic goo slurpee are slim to none – which (probably) accounts for his momentary confusion and why he’s scrambling to get his bearings while Simmons gapes at him from the far corner.

“Well,” he clears his throat nervously. “Would you believe that out of all the Kree artifacts in the world –”

“Please.” She groans, chucking a shoe at his head. “ _Stop_.”

*

They’re not more than halfway through the third tournament of _tic-tac-toe_ when he dips his head to meet her eyes.

It’s a near thing, how carefully she controls the flinch that wants to come out, to regally inquire, “Yes?”

Up close without any other distraction, Jemma can observe (for perhaps the first time) the battle behind his eyes, how he weighs what he is about to ask _oh so cautiously_ and finally settles on:

“Did it chafe when it dragged you too?”

*

He wouldn’t be Grant Douglas Ward if he weren’t prepared for all the scenarios and so he produces a flask from _somewhere_ on his person (she’s heard about the weapons cache he stores and how thoroughly Mike had had to scan him to ensure all weaponry had been removed) and, in a move surprising absolutely no one, tips back a healthy amount before offering it to her.

While she balefully stares at him, he shrugs. “Figured I’d offer myself as tribute.”

“Oh my _gosh_ ,” she drags a hand down her face, snatching the flask from him. “That is completely _not_ what is meant by that line.”

(She’s too busy availing herself of the top-shelf vodka to notice the tiny smile curl on his lips.)

*

“I just can’t _believe_ ,” Skye turns her head to stare incredulously where Fitz is dramatically sprawled on the bed, “That you waited _all this time_ to ask her out and then got her up and captured by some kind of space slime rock.”

“We’re obviously star crossed lovers,” Fitz throws an arm over his eyes in an attempt to block out her voice, and possibly, the sun. “Never shall the two meet, and all that.”

She snorts. “C’mon, Romeo. Let’s go rescue your space princess before they give her a galaxy to rule or something.”

More than somewhat alarmed, Fitz sits up. “Do you really think they’d do that?”

“Well,” she tips her head, considering. “It _is_ Simmons we’re talking about.”

Fitz swears ripely.

*

(Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.)

There’s a drink just within reach and an ocean breeze caressing her skin. The man she loves is at her side, and if she moves another inch to the left, paradise will finally, really and truly, be hers.

The phone rings.

Andrew sighs so quietly that it can hardly be heard over the ocean spray rushing their senses.

She lets it ring twice more before extending an arm.

He’s thumbed the call open before dropping the phone into her palm with a rueful smile.

“Someone had better be dead,” May warns, eyes narrowed into slits.

“ _It’s not quite_ **that** _bad and yet…_ ” Lance can be heard cringing on the other line, despite being oceans and continents away.

“Get to the _point_ ,” she growls, while pulling on a pair of cutoffs so ancient the hem is positively _indecent_ and there are holes the size of a baby’s fist _where there should be no holes_ to speak of.

“You see… Your team’s gone missing.”

May closes her eyes and counts to ten. Backwards. In every language she can think of.

When she opens them, Andrew is holding up his phone to display a mobile voucher for their flight home.

She digs her feet into the sand one last time and sighs quietly.

They’re walking out of the resort when she remarks, seemingly out of nowhere, “It’s like they’re all a bunch of toddlers requiring supervision and no one else is brave enough to take them on.”

“Sounds like another group you know,” He raises an eyebrow, helping her stow the luggage in the trunk.

May indulges in one last sigh but doesn’t look back. “Yeah.”

*

They’ve finished _tic-tac-toe_ and have moved onto a positively rousing game of _dots_ when there is a loud _POP_! heralding the arrival of new guests into their inter-dimensional wormhole.

Fitz and Skye land in a sprawl of limbs so tangled that it is hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.

Jemma and Ward spring into action, united in their inactivity now disrupted by this quest to help their companions gain their bearings.

“Let’s give you a leg up on this,” Ward says, pulling Fitz backward until he can safely maneuver his legs free without kicking anyone accidentally.

Jemma groans and meets her friend’s eyes with a shrug.

“A leg –” Skye glares halfheartedly in the boys’ direction. “Is that something they teach in Hydra school? _Horrible Jokes 101_?” The sarcastic venom in her tone is bittersweetly familiar, heightened by the fact that it lacks the usual drop-kick force, presumably due to her disorientation.

Fitz covers his eyes and reaches out blindly for Jemma’s hand with the other. She shakes her head, drawing him over to the little corner she’d claimed for the duration of her stay.

“It’s like nothing’s changed,” Fitz mutters.

He offers a partially smushed protein bar to Jemma, who takes half with tiny smile and twinkling eyes. “This is a lovely date.”

“Next time we’ll try it without the peanut gallery, yeah?”

Jemma blushes and redirects her attention to where the argument between their companions has begun to reach new heights.

“Well, Skye,” Ward says heatedly, “Not that it means anything to you, but –”

“– _Daisy_ ,” She interjects, trying to derail his line of thought almost as transparently as when they would bicker about early morning training sessions on the Bus.

“No,” Ward calmly disagrees, going along with her apparent non sequitur as he is well used to her verbal meanderings. “You hate them almost as much as you detest orchids.”

“ _No_ , you idiot.” Skye says, frustration evident in the way her fists are balled up tightly. “That’s my name.”

There is nothing for a long moment and then –

Ward laughs.

and laughs.

…and _laughs_.

*

It is basically impossible to keep track of time, so when even Skye and Ward have run themselves ragged fighting, Jemma quietly insists that they should all try to get some rest.

Ward is stubbornly guarding what remains in his flask, shooting her betrayed eyes from where she sits curled in Fitz’s arms.

“Oh stop,” she says in exasperation, though her close proximity to the engineer has it lacking her usual heat. “It’s hardly as if you had enough to do much more than offer it as a trade.”

Truth or Dare had evolved rather quickly, even by their (old) standards.

(There really is only so much you can do in a gigantic room of _nothing_.)

Skye snores once from where she is stretched out on the floor. She currently lacks a shirt and one shoe.

Ward can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the line of smooth lines of tan skin where it intersects with her black lace bra. “This is all your fault.”

“Yes,” Jemma serenely replies. “But at least you’ve stopped that ridiculous fighting.”

“Msszt.” Fitz mumbles in his sleep.

Jemma brushes a thumb along his cheekbone, silently marveling at how fortunate she is to be in this moment.

Ward makes loud gagging noises.

She arches an eyebrow at him until relents, and wisely refrains from comment as he drapes his leather jacket over Skye gallantly and – most likely – driven by self-preservation.

*

The next morning isn’t much better.

They all stare at each other with varying degrees of frustration (Ward), hunger (Skye) and fondness (Fitzsimmons).

“So what was the play, here?” Ward shakes his head, as the nostalgia overtaking the situation moves past _distantly_ _uncomfortable_ and plows straight into _awkward family reunion from hell_. “Gonna wait for the cavalry to arrive?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Fitz grumbles, kicking restlessly at the near-spotless floor.

Naturally that is when Coulson trips into view.

The sight of the Director, without any apparent backup or weapons at his disposal, rather takes the wind out of everyone’s sails.

There is a defeated silence that no one seems comfortable breaking.

“Well. Not _quite_ what I had hoped,” Ward finally sighs, gamely helping the older man to his feet.

“And I liked it better when you called me ‘Boss,’ ” says Coulson. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“ _Don’t say it_ –” Ward, Jemma and Fitz suddenly plead as one.

“But if you try sometimes, you just might find,” Skye curls a fist to her chest, pop-singer style, and raises her voice in a falsetto, “You get what you _NEED._ ”

Coulson covers his face with his hand. “Where did I go wrong?”

*

Melinda May doesn’t tumble or sprawl inelegantly when she shows up.

She walks into an _interdimensional wormhole_ like it’s her _job_ – and let’s be real, it kind of _is_ – and shakes her head at the lot of them.

 

( “Always picking up after you.”

“I told you it’d be boring filling out paperwork and forms the rest of your life. How was vacation?”

“ _Short_.”

“Whoops. _Sorry_.”)

 

Jemma has literal _stars_ in her eyes (though no one can be sure if it’s due to the arrival of her mentor or the mysterious gadget tucked into her arm) as she leaps to her feet. “You didn’t give up on me!”

“ _What_.” Fitz is looking rather dejected. “In what universe would we do that?” Then, privately to her: “ _Some_ of us were here to rescue you _earlier_ , by the way.”

“Simmons.” May shoots her an exasperated look, handing over the gadget to the biochemist and nodding at Fitz. “I’ve been told you should both be able to use this.”

Their eyes light up in excitement. “This is Dr Foster’s –”

“– Not even created for the use of Tony Stark and –”

“– They said it couldn’t be recreated –”

From where they watch their friends finish each other’s sentences and reverent glances, Skye and Ward share an indulgent look.

The moment is promptly shattered as she glares at him darkly. “I can’t stand you.”

“I know,” Ward yawns. “That’s why you’re still wearing my jacket like a second skin.”

She opens her mouth to yell at him and then –

*

– They rematerialise in a field somewhere.

There is a Quinjet to their left, with the kind of precise landing that can only be due to May’s handiwork.

“I’m so glad to be home,” Jemma threads her fingers into Fitz’s, pulling him along in the wake of May’s determined stride.

The wind kicks up, blowing Skye’s hair into her eyes, and she bats it away impatiently.

“Cheer up,” Ward ruffles her hair affectionately. “It’ll grow back.”

Barely overheard from where he brings up the rear, Coulson mumbles feelingly: “ _Lucky_.”

.

**Author's Note:**

> \+ points if you catch the bloodsport reference  
> \+ and the joke in the last line  
> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/).


End file.
